


I'd Do Anything For Love (But I Won't Do That)

by talkingismylife



Series: escape (the piña colada song) verse [2]
Category: Bohemian Rhapsody (Movie 2018), Queen (Band)
Genre: Attempt at Humor, Established Relationship, F/M, Fluff, Idiots in Love, M/M, Roger is just a soft boy, cooking fails, enjoy responsibly, he only wants to make dinner for his boyfriend, too much salt will kill you, where we're going we don't need proper timelines
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-28
Updated: 2019-02-28
Packaged: 2019-11-06 18:21:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,143
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17944775
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/talkingismylife/pseuds/talkingismylife
Summary: Roger was not a panicker; he had never been one and never would be. He was a calm person in the face of drama, he had a (normally) cool head and was never one to have a melt down due to stress. Anger, yes. Frustration? Even more so. Panic? Never.So why the fuck was he panicking in his kitchen when he only had an hour and a half before Brian would arrive?Or, how two idiots eat the Atlantic and confess their love.





	I'd Do Anything For Love (But I Won't Do That)

**Author's Note:**

> no need to read "escape (the piña colada song) before this, seeing as technically this comes first. however, i am not great at timelines, who even knows? time is a mythical construct enforced on us by society so do what you want dance in the rain eat the cookie dough, and hey, read this one first before doubling back to the other. you do you, boo

Roger was not a panicker; he had never been one and never would be. He was a calm person in the face of drama, he had a (normally) cool head and was never one to have a melt down due to stress. Anger, yes. Frustration? Even more so. Panic? Never. 

So why the fuck was he panicking in his kitchen when he only had an hour and a half before Brian would arrive? 

Its not like he wasn't prepared; Mary had spent the past two months teaching him how to cook, beginning with scrambled eggs and ending with the grand finale, tonight's dinner of vegetarian lasagna with garlic bread and roasted veggies. It was the perfect meal for what Roger was hoping would be the perfect date wherein he could finally tell Brian that he loved him. 

Not that he hadn't before--after all, he technically already confessed how he felt the night he climbed through his widow. But since that night, he hadn't repeated it for fear of Brian getting scared off, or not being able to say it back. Plus, it's one thing to word vomit your feelings all over the subject of your affection when you're half a bottle of vodka in and still full of adrenaline from scaling a three story building, and a whole other thing when you're sitting across a candle lit table. 

And that's just the whole shebang, isn't it? Roger was _romantic_ , he was a good boyfriend, and he was going to woo the shit out of Brian even if it killed him. (And if you asked Mary, it almost did. She had no idea how he had managed to survive this long when the first time she asked him to crack an egg he managed to break a bowl and nearly brain himself on the counter after slipping in the resulting mess of egg on the floor). He was pulling out all the stops; Brian's favorite bottle of merlot was open and breathing on the counter, he'd bought local beeswax candles, there was a new bottle of bubble bath ready to be used in the bathroom, and yes, he had even groomed _downstairs_ for the occasion. There were new sheets on the bed, and Freddie had been banished to Mary's apartment for the night, with a warning of needing to stay the weekend if everything went according to plan. 

Which it was. Sort of. In a sense. 

Roger had followed everything according to the recipe. He had done everything the exact same way he had before with Mary, from boiling the noodles to using the same technique to chop the veggies, to even the same order they layered the sauce, cheese, and filling. But just because he was following the recipe doesn't mean that he was actually doing it _well_. It certainly didn't help that he dropped half the spice rack into the water when he set it to boil, nor that he ended up forgetting to stir the veggies once put into the oven, causing them to get completely soft on one side. And then he proceeded to burn half the lasagna when he forgot to turn down the temperature after cooking the veggies, _as well as_ his hand when he tried to pull the dish from the oven one handed using only a dish towel. 

So, queue panic. 

 

_"Hello?"_

"Mary?" Roger gripped the phone ever tighter, struggling to keep his breathing even. 

_"Oh, hello, darling! How are you? How's the big dinner coming along?"_

There was a time and place for every emotion. For Roger, the time and place was now, and the emotion was sheer and unbridled hysterics. 

"It's horrible, Mary, I've gone and cocked it all up, and Brian is supposed to be here in an hour and a half and I've burned half the lasagna and my hand and I think the garlic bread has _too_ much garlic, I overcooked the carrots and they're just _mush_ , and Brian is going to hate this and it's all my fault so can you please come over and do what you need to do because if Brian comes here and sees this mess he's for sure going to turn around and walk back out the door--" 

_"Roger, Roger, please, slow down! I can barely understand you. What's happened?"_

Roger let out a strangled breath as he grabbed the bottle of wine by the neck and took a healthy swig. "I've fucked it all up, Mary, and it's all gone to shit. Please, I need your help." 

He could hear her murmur in the background--most likely to Freddie, the nosey bastard--and took the time to take another lush pull of wine. Desperate times, and all that.

_"Alright, I'll be over in ten minutes. Turn off any and all burners, and the oven, okay? And just, just try to stay calm."_

"I _am_ calm!" Her silence spoke volumes. He took one slow, deep breath, and then let it out shakily. "Okay, fair point. I will do my best." 

_"That's all I ask, darling. Now, do you need me to bring anything?"_

Looking around the demolished kitchen, he swallowed heavily. The lasagna, while half burned, was probably salvageable, as would the garlic bread, so long as they brushed their teeth before kissing. The veggies, however...

"I'm gonna need some more veggies," he sighed, once again raising the bottle to his lips. He glanced down at the bottle, and grimaced, "and another bottle of merlot." 

_"Okay, Rog, that's fine. Give me fifteen, and I'll have this all sorted out."_

 

"Roger?" 

There was a crash, some muffled cursing, and the telltale sound of a glass breaking from the general direction of the kitchen. 

And then, like a dirty, tipsy, and flustered vision using a tea towel as a bandage, appeared Roger, in all his shirtless glory. Mary had the sudden and rather instinctual urge to wrap him up in a blanket fresh from the dryer and tuck him into bed with a glass of warm milk and a lullaby. The urge quickly vanished once he opened his mouth. 

"Thank Christ you're here, Mary, I'm fucking dying over here. I just dropped a wine glass all down my front and I'm ninety-nine percent convinced that I've broken Freddie's mother's pie tin." 

Mary pinched the bridge of her nose. "How, Rog? Freddie keeps it in a bottom drawer wrapped in plastic. How did you manage to break it?" 

"How did I manage to do anything, Mary! I don't even know anymore! All I know is everything is terrible and I'm going to actually have a heart attack from all this stress-- _cooking isn't supposed to be this hard!_ It's just heating up cold food!" 

"First of all, stop being so dramatic. We'll cross that bridge when we get there; we can always blame it on a cat. As for the mess, we'll start with the most urgent mess and work our way up. What needs our help first?" 

Mary had learned a few tricks from working in retail, beginning with how to stare someone into submission. Roger, bless him, was easily malleable into her will. 

"Probably the broken glass," he said with much dejection. "Then the lasagna, and then the veggies." 

"Good, we can start there. Please get the broom and dust pan to get up the large pieces, and I'll fetch the hoover. We're going to sort this all out, alright, Rog? You'll see, this will all work out." 

The glass was quickly taken care of and deposited in the bin, along with half of the lasagna. 

"He'll never notice the difference," Mary assured him as she scraped the blackened half into the bin. Roger watched it go glumly. "Luckily for you, only one half is ruined." 

"I really tried," he said sadly. Once again, Mary had to beat back her urge to give him a cuddle. She allowed herself to rub his back soothingly. 

"I know you did, and Brian will love it. And look! The bread is perfect! There is absolutely no such thing as too much garlic. All you have to do is pop it in the oven, you've done a marvellous job spreading the butter!" That seemed to perk him up. "Now, why don't you go get yourself ready? We can't have Brian come in here and see you all a mess. I'll finish the veg and the bread; all you'll have to do is take it out of the oven before he comes. D'you think you can manage it?" 

Roger took a deep breath before throwing his arms around her and hugging her close. "Mary, if I weren't completely ass over teakettle for Brian and you weren't in love with my best mate, I'd kiss you." 

Mary blushed prettily and returned the hug. "You're welcome, Roger. Now, please, do go freshen up, you smell like burnt cheese and red wine." 

 

Forty-five minutes later, Roger was out of the shower, redressed in a rather dashing floral blazer and black trousers, and had towel dried his hair to the best of his ability. Mary had sautéed the veggies for a faster cook time as well as baked the garlic bread. With a flourish, she hip-checked the oven door closed and dusted off her hands. 

"There," she announced. "Everything's in the oven just to warm, alright? It's impossible for you to cause anymore damage to the food between now and when Brian comes home. Have him get the food out of the oven, though, I don't want you hurting your hand more than you already have. And please, don't drink anymore wine until you _both_ sit down to eat, alright? The last thing you want is to be a sloppy drunk." 

Roger allowed himself to be guided to the kitchen table and forced into a seat, a glass of chilled water plunked down in front of him. 

"Drink all of that," Mary commanded. Roger did as he was told. "Good. Now, remember, we've gone over this. Brian will love the meal, you'll tell him you love him, and then he'll make sweet, tender, and extremely vanilla sex to you all night long, sex which I never, _ever_ want to hear about." 

"Oh, please, Mary, save me the lies. I know for a fact that you want to know every gritty detail, you tart. Beginning with the how much Brian loves it when I--" 

"Roger!" 

He cut himself off with a laugh. "Alright, alright, I get it. I'll tell you tomorrow." 

Mary groaned as she ran a hand down over her face, but it did little to hide her smile. "Please don't." 

He grabbed her hand, holding it tightly in his slightly clammy palm. Looking deep into her eyes, he steadied his face into a mask of sheer seriousness. "Mary Austin, I owe you my first born and my left foot." 

"Keep the foot, I'll take the baby," Mary replied solemnly. "It'd better be cute, though, otherwise I don't want it." 

Roger scoffed, almost offended. "Of course it'll be cute, it'll be my own damn kid!" 

"Debatable." Roger opened his mouth to protest, but she cut him off with a finger to his lips. "We could sit here all night and debate it until the cows come home, _or_ you allow me to leave now before Brian comes back. Take your pick." 

"You're absolutely right, the kid would look like a troll. Thanks again, Mary, you're the best and I love you, solemn vow." 

She pecked him quickly on the cheek, rubbing the lipstick mark off the apple of his cheek with her thumb. "Anytime, Roger darling. Now, best of luck to you and Brian, and please remember that you do have neighbors, so please don't let the resulting celebrations cause too much of a fuss, alright?" 

"No promises." 

She bade him farewell as she gathered her jacket and purse, blowing him a kiss before leaving. As she scurried down the stairs, she couldn't help but let out her own little sigh of relief; never again would she ever volunteer to help teach him how to cook. In fact, she was absolutely positive that she had done more than enough cooking for one day. She'd make a quick stop at a curry shop on her way back to her flat and pick up something for both her and Freddie, who was just as, if not more, hopeless in the kitchen. 

She was halfway down the building's steps when she nearly bumped into Brian, almost causing him to drop the pastry box he held in one hand, the other clutching a bouquet of flowers. 

"Oops! Sorry there, Mary, didn't see you," Brian smiled, reaching out carefully in an attempt to steady her. "How're you?" 

It should never be said that Mary wasn't an excellent secret keeper. In fact, she had been voted "Best Confidant" in her Girl Guide's group when she was a child, and there was a definite reason that Roger had turned to her to help learn to cook and no one else. She would never, ever, betray anyone's trust when it comes to things told in secret, but for once, she felt as though she would be forgiven for breaking a vow of silence. 

"I need you to promise me that you will never reveal what I told you," she blustered, watching carefully as his beaming grin quickly twisted into a serious line. 

"Of course, Mary, what is it? Are you alright?" 

"Yes. No, I mean, I'm fine, yes, it has nothing really to do with me, I'm alright," she stammered. "It's about Roger--"

"Roger? Is he alright?" 

Rolling her eyes, she planted one hand firmly onto his chest, pushing him back down a step. "Yes, yes, he's fine. A bit of a scattered mess, but overall he's fine. Look, I know you're not that kind of person, but sometimes people do stuff they regret--" Brian looked quite ill, almost as though he was about to heart attack as she continued. "It's nothing bad! I mean, it could be bad. But nothing disastrous! I promise, I cleaned up all the glass--" 

"Glass?" 

"He's made you dinner!" Mary exclaimed, blurting out everything as Brian's face went from startled alarm to confusion. 

"O...kay? I know? I've brought dessert." Brian blinked at her, wearing an expression one might wear if they were told that two plus two now equaled seven. 

"Not like that, stupid! He's _made_ dinner. I've been teaching him to cook for the past two months now, and he's spent all day cooking for you. I know how sweet you are, but we all know how Roger is, and I don't want his feelings hurt just in case. So please, Brian, promise me that you won't say anything mean? He's been trying, really-- _really really_ trying--and he's so nervous and I just can't let you go in blind. Just in case." 

It looked as though it took him a bit to digest everything she had just dumped on him, but eventually nodded his head. 

"That bad, huh?" 

She couldn't help the breathless giggle that escaped. "Oh Brian, it's honestly so sweet. But yes, it's been, well, it's been nothing short of an adventure. He's just so earnest! He tries so hard, but Lord, that boy could burn water." 

"That's Rog for you," Brian shrugged with a chuckle. "I promise, I won't say anything mean, no matter how terrible." 

"Well, it won't be _terrible_. Maybe a little smokey," Mary huffed. "I'm not a miracle worker." 

Brian shuffled the flowers and box awkwardly, clearly trying to figure out how best to give her a hug without crushing either of them. After a brief moment, he realized it was hopeless and settled for bending down to push their cheeks together in a pantomime of a kiss. 

"You're aces, Mary. Thanks for helping Roger out, I'll make sure he buys you something nice as a thank you." 

Mary accepted the almost-sort-of-kiss with grace before sliding past him. "Oh, don't worry about. He's already promised me his first born, so I'll be fine with that." 

She let his confused "what?' ring behind her as she waltzed out the front door, relieved that no matter what, Roger would at least have a fighting chance at not ruining everything. 

 

Brian made his way cautiously to Roger's flat. Mary's warning was a blessing in disguise, although, to be completely honest, he probably would have figured it out once he reached the front door. There was very little masking the unfortunate stench of burned food that had wafted through into the hallway, no matter how hard Roger had clearly tried. Brian had witnessed more than enough of Roger's _attempts_ in the kitchen to recognize the after effects of Roger in the kitchen. That isn't to say that he wasn't flattered--Roger rarely enjoyed doing things he was bad at. He was too competitive to ever admit that he wasn't great at something, so to see him throw himself down on his proverbial kitchen sized sword just to do something romantic, well, it was enough to bring a blush to his cheeks. 

It made his bouquet of grocery store daises pale in comparison. 

Brian had a brief moment where he genuinely considered chucking the flowers over the railing, but that would be a waste of the five quid, and would honestly be too immature. Roger did something lovely for him, and he deserved something lovely in return. And, depending on how dinner went, he might even be up for another _something lovely_. That is, if he wasn't taken to hospital over food poisoning. 

Wasting no further time on hypotheticals, he shuffled the flowers into the crook of his left arm, ran one hand over his curls for a quick fluff, before knocking sharply on the door. Roger flung the door opened almost immediately, as though he had been standing by the door just waiting for him to arrive. 

"Brian!" he shouted, smiling almost maniacally. His cheeks were flushed with what could be too much wine, and his hair was frizzing slightly, as though he had spent too much time running his hands through it while it dried. There was a bandage around his right hand, and it was impossible to ignore the obvious teeth marks in his lower lip, a tell tale sign that he had probably spent the better part of the past hour chewing away on it due to his nerves. And yet, Brian had never seen a lovelier sight. 

"Hey, you," Brian sighed, bending down to kiss him sweetly. Roger pressed back into the embrace almost nervously before rocking back onto his heels. Brian took the time to present him with the flowers, hoping he would find them charming. "For you." 

Roger flushed beautifully, giggling rather like a school girl as he brought them up to his nose for a quick sniff. "Didja--didja bring me _flowers_? What, are you trying to get in m'pants?" 

Brian rolled his eyes, brushing past him to deliver the dessert, a rather delectable strawberry cheesecake, to the fridge. "Why? Is it working?" 

He barely had time to drop the cheesecake onto the table before Roger glomped himself onto his back, squeezing his torso tightly. It also had the added effect of pushing his crotch right against Brian's ass. 

"Baby, you know I'm always easy for you," Roger murmured throatily into the back of Brian's neck. "You don't need to bring me flowers just to have me suck you off." 

Brian closed his eyes tightly, picturing everything from his gran in the loo to that one time Freddie had drunk a whole pint of gin and spewed jellied babies and wine gums all over Brian's bed just in the hope of staving off his erection. 

"I was promised dinner," he announced desperately, hoping he would be able to hide how turned on his was. "If I'm not fed, I'm going to leave and find somewhere better." 

Roger hummed accordingly, giving him one last squeeze before untangling himself from his back. "Just you wait, darling. I'll give you dinner _and_ a show." 

His knuckles turned white from his grip on the counter--the only thing keeping him upright. 

Roger cackled as he fetched Brian a wine glass, before swatting him on the bum as he pushed past him to fetch the food from the oven. It took a bit of finagling, but Roger was able to pull all three dishes free without getting burned this time. 

"Can I help in any way?" Brian offered, watching as Roger carefully measure out two portions of lasagna, veg, and two pieces each of garlic bread onto the only two matching plates he had in the entire flat--courtesy, naturally, of Freddie's mother. Roger waved him off with a playful huff, pointing the serving spoon towards the dinning room where he had sweetly set the table. 

"You can help me by getting your cute bum in that seat," he declared. "This is a home cooked meal, and I don't want you having to lift a finger to do anything." 

"How domestic," Brian cooed. Shockingly, the unflappable and shameless Roger turned the most delicious shade of crimson, bashfully turning back to the plates, seemingly flustered into silence. Brian filed it away to be used at a later date. 

It was clear once he had a good look at the table that Roger had pulled out all the stops. There were actual candles burning on vintage candlesticks, the table had been set in proper dinner style, complete with water glasses and room for his wine glass. He had even managed to dig up actual clothe napkins, which, if Brian was honest, he didn't even think _he_ had in his flat. In the corner, the record player was steadily crooning an Etta Jones record. Clearly, Roger was trying his best to be romantic. Brian really couldn't complain, as it was working. He felt rather _wooed_. 

"Voila," Roger announced in a truly horrific French accent, carrying the plates to the table. "Lasagna a la Roger, for the monsieur. Veg, of course, a al mode, and garlic bread--" Roger cut himself off, scrunching up his face as he struggled to remember more of his French. "Garlic bread, erm...a la mode, also." 

Brian couldn't help but chuckle. "Looks delicious, Rog," he murmured as he pulled him down for a kiss. Roger fumbled with his own plate, setting it sharply down on the table so as to wrap his arms around Brian's neck. They kissed tenderly, enjoying the warmth of each other's embrace and the feeling of simply being close. It was almost perfect. Brian had everything he'd ever wanted: Roger, a home cooked meal, and the heady promise of something wonderful awaiting him in the bedroom. 

Of course, it was only fitting that the phone would ring at that exact moment. 

Roger pulled away with a grumpy little frown, glaring towards the kitchen. 

"Ignore it," Brian said, brushing his thumb over the backs of Roger's knuckles. "Let's just enjoy dinner." 

"It's vegetarian lasagna," Roger supplied, still glaring at the ringing phone, although much less angrily. "Mary taught me how to make it." 

"Did she?" 

"Yes, she did. But I made everything myself. Well, almost. She had to help me with the vegetables, but other than that, all this was me." 

Brian's heart swelled with pride. He reached over to entwine their fingers. "It looks fantastic, babe." The phone stopped ringing. 

Roger smiled happily, leaning in for another kiss before reaching for his wine, taking a generous sip. "I'm not, going to lie, I think this whole thing has taken at least ten years off my life. But, I wanted to do something special for my someone special." 

It would be a complete and utter lie if Brian said he wasn't completely charmed. 

"Go on," Roger encourage with a nod at the plate. "Have the first taste." 

For a brief moment, Brian forgot what he was talking about, before remembering the whole reason he was there. Still smiling, he picked up his fork before looking down to inspect the food. Surprisingly, it didn't look as terrible as he had been imagining. Sure, the lasagna was rather sloppily slumped across his plate, oozing cheese and spinach, but it smelled rather divine, and it didn't looked burned. Toasted, maybe, but not burned. Brian looked up to see Roger watching him like a hawk, wringing his hands with nerves. The maniacal smile was back, and for a moment, Brian could have sworn he saw Roger's left eye twitch.

"Well? Go on!" Roger insisted as he flapped his hands. "And be honest!" 

Brian swallowed his nerves as he raised his fork again, eyeing it with minor trepidation. The side of the fork sliced through the layers of pasta and cheese easily, proving that Roger had cooked the pasta sheets properly, if not a tad too long. The spinach looked fully cooked as well, no awkwardly undercooked leaves to be seen. Gathering up a rather generous forkful, Brian smiled encouragingly back at Roger before toasting the utensil and shoving the whole thing into his mouth. 

Immediately, he regretted it. 

It was as though Roger had boiled the pasta in the whole of the Atlantic. It was _painfully_ salty, to the point where he felt his whole mouth pucker in pain. No matter how hard he tried, there was no way Brian was able to hide his grimace. Roger's face fell, looking as though he were about to perform harikari with the fork he had clutched tightly in his right hand. Brian had to act fast. 

"Hot," he grunted, fanning at his mouth, struggling to keep the horrible mouthful in his mouth and not in his napkin. "Too hot, didn't think." 

Roger looked only marginally better, still watching him with disappointment. "Ooh, Bri, I'm sorry. Shall I fetch you some water?" 

Thank God and all the angels above. Yes, Brian needed water like a man stranded in the desert needed shade. "Please," he winced, struggling to swallow. "Water, yes, please." 

Roger leapt from his seat, rushing into the kitchen. Brian took the opportunity to spit the mouthful into his palm, grimacing. How in the world was he going to hide this? 

"Bri, darling, do you want ice?" Roger asked, poking his head back through the doorway. Brian panicked and shoved the chewed up mess back in his mouth, turning to face his boyfriend with wide eyes. All he could do was nod his head. Once Roger had returned to the kitchen, he closed his eyes and swallowed. 

"Alright, Brian," he whispered to himself, "you can do this. Just tell him. You'll hurt his feelings more in the long run if you don't." 

"Here you go! Fresh ice water, just for you. So sorry it was too hot, I should have taken it out of the oven sooner." 

Brian smiled weakly. "Don't worry," he lied, "it was my own fault for not blowing on it first." 

Roger's face twisted into something coy, twitching up one eyebrow. "I can think of something else you should blow--" 

Whatever he wanted to say next was interrupted by the jangle of the phone. Roger cursed, running one hand over his face. 

"You should get that," Brian blurted out, suddenly seeing an out. At Roger's startled expression, he hurried to explain himself. "What if it's someone important? Worst case, it's just Fred being a prat. But otherwise they'll just keep ringing." 

Roger huffed. "Alright, I guess that makes sense. I'll be quick, I promise." 

"I'm not going anywhere," Brian assured him. Roger smiled sweetly, running one finger down the curve of Brian's cheek before returning to the kitchen. Brian started to frantically scrape as much of the lasagna as he could towards the side of his plate, fully prepared to dump the whole lot into his napkin and run to the bathroom. 

"Hello? Oh, hullo mum. How are you?" 

_Perfect_ , Brian thought. Roger's mum could talk for hours. It would give him just enough time to run his lasagna to the toilet, and to spill his wine glass all over Roger's plate. Two birds, one stone. That is, until Roger stretched the phone to the doorway, propping his hip against the wall as he smiled fondly over at Brian, the phone cradled between his shoulder and ear. 

"No, mum, I've got a bit of time for a chat," Roger said, ever the mama's boy. Covering the mouth of the receiver, he whispered at Brian, "Feel free to eat without me! I'll be just a bit." 

Dread sunk heavy in the pit of his stomach. Or was that the one mouthful of lasagna he had been able to choke down? Steading himself to just rip off the bandaid and let Roger know it was terrible, he made the mistake of looking back at his boyfriend. It was clear that whatever his mother was saying, he wasn't listening, focusing instead on staring lovingly at Brian. He was looking at him as though he had hung the moon and the stars, his entire face soft in a way he had never seen it before. He was looking at him so tenderly, so lovingly, that Brian knew he had no other choice. 

In that moment, Brian decided that he would eat the whole damn piece, and even Roger's, if he had to. He was never, _ever_ going to let Roger know how terrible his labor of love was, even if it killed him. Brian was going to take one for the proverbial team. Maintaining eye contact, Brian shovelled yet _another_ mouthful, doing his best to chew as quickly as possible before washing it down with a gulp of water. Lasagna, water, lasagna, water. Rinse and repeat. 

Roger appeared to be wrapping up his conversation with his mum, still infuriatingly watching Brian choke down the world's saltiest lasagna as though he were watching Brian deliver the baby Jesus himself. Panicking only slightly, Brian rushed another massive bite, eeking out a smile as he tried not to cry from the burning of his lips. Fuck, he was almost out of water. Desperately, he reached for the wine, wincing as the alcohol burned his too dry lips. Roger frowned; Brian smiled. 

"Listen, mum, can I call you back tomorrow?" Roger asked suddenly, watching Brian carefully. "Brian's here for dinner, and I don't want to keep him waiting any longer. Mm-hmm, I'll let him know. Of course, yup, sure. Uh-huh, love you, too. Nope, I'll make sure to give her a ring tomorrow as well. Yup, yup, you, too mum. Love you." 

He turned back into the kitchen to hang up the phone. Now or never, May. Time to grow the fuck up and spill wine all over your boyfriend's hard cooked meal. With one last disgusting bite, Brian picked up Roger's wine glass and dumped it all over his plate, cursing theatrically. 

Roger rushed back into the dining room, staring in horror at the complete mess all over the nice table cloth and his plate. 

"Brian, what the ever loving fuck?" he yelped. 

"Shit, shit, Roger, I'm so sorry," he babbled, frantically pretending to mop up the mess with his napkin. "I was reaching for the pepper and I knocked your glass, I'm so sorry, I've made a real mess of this." 

"No, babe, it's not your fault," Roger sighed, hurrying over to help him clean. "I should have told my mum to call me back later, that was so rude of me." 

Brian frantically shook his head. "No, of course not! She's your mum! I'm the butterfingers. Look, let me fetch you a new plate, alright?" 

"No, I--"

"Roger, baby, I insist. You made this absolutely _delicious_ dinner, and I had to ruin it. Let me get you a new plate." 

The smile he got in return was blinding. "If you insist--"

"I do. Please, help yourself to my plate, it's only fair." 

He scurried into the kitchen, his heart beating. Now, how the fuck was he going to make sure Roger wouldn't have to try a bite? He could spill the whole bottle in the remaining pan, but no, that would be too obvious. He could grab the hot pan, make himself drop the plate from the "heat"? That wouldn't work either, they had a planned gig next week, and he couldn't fuck up his hand. 

"Bri? You alright in there?" 

"Just peachy!" he shouted back, breaking out in a nervous sweat. Shit, shit, shit, shit. This was something he wished they had prepared him for in college, not how to do advanced mathematics.

Pepper, Freddie's too fluffy and too spoiled cat, wound her way around his ankles, mewling for food. "Not now," he hissed, pushing the cat aside with his foot. "I don't have time to feed...you." It as though God himself had parted the clouds, shinning the light down on the little fluff ball. Brian could have kissed the damn cat. "Sorry, Pep," he murmured as he scooped the cat into his arms, depositing her on the counter. Taking a deep breath, he let out a curse. 

"Goddamnit, Pepper, no! How many times do we have to tell you to stay off the counter?" Brian bellowed, holding the cat securely in his arms. Roger groaned from the dinning room.

"What did she do this time?" he called, craning his neck. 

"The monster was _eating_ your lasagna!" he lied, coming into the doorway just to shake the cat as though he was angry. Secretly, he vowed to feed her nothing but canned salmon and tuna for the next month. 

Roger frowned, getting to his feet. Scooping the cat from Brian's arms, he cuddled the cat close to his chest. "Pepper, you naughty girl! What are you doing eating human food? I fed you before dinner for this exact reason!" 

"Meow," said Pepper. 

"That's what I thought you'd say, you stupid little minx," Roger huffed. Frowning back up at Brian, he repositioned the cat so that she was draped effortlessly over one shoulder. "Just cut out the bits that she nibbled out, and I'll have the rest." 

Fuck.

"Absolutely not!" Brian yelped, his voice going up at least three octaves. Roger cocked one eyebrow, taking a step back. Brian felt as though his heart was going to beat out his chest from the stress. "Do you have any idea how completely unhygienic that is, Roger? You're a biologist, you should know this! Pepper--Pepper--why, Pepper licks her own ass! Her _ass_ , Roger! Do you want to eat lasagna that could have cat feces on it?" 

Roger stared at him for a long minute, before turning back to the cat. He glanced again at Brian, then Pepper once more, and pulled a face. 

"Alright," he sighed, bending over to drop the cat onto the floor. "I guess I'll just stick to the veg and bread." 

Brian felt dizzy with relief. "Yes, veg and bread. I'll grab you a plate, right now. For you. A plate, of just veg." 

"And bread." 

"And bread! Veg and bread. Just for you." 

 

 

Roger watched his stupidly lanky boyfriend rush back into the kitchen, returning promptly with the aforementioned plate of veg and bread. 

Raising his wine glass, Roger offered it in cheers. "To you," he declared, "the world's sweetest boyfriend." 

Brian blushed horribly, but met his glass with his own, mumbling a faint, "cheers," before taking a healthy gulp of wine. Roger watched him fondly as he stabbed at the meagre meal before him. 

"I'll cut you a giant slice of cake, just for you," Brian promised nonsensically. "To make up for the lasagna." 

Roger shrugged. "Alright." He popped a sprout into his mouth, chewing slowly as he watched Brian shift in his seat. "You...you did like it, though, right? The lasagna," he added after Brian's confused face. His eyes widened as he nodded quickly. 

"Best damn lasagna, ever," Brian praised. "One I'll never forget." 

Unable to do anything other than preen, Roger reached over to tangle their fingers together. "Anything for you, Brian." 

 

 

They finished the rest of dinner with no other excitements, chatting about everything from their days, to their upcoming gigs, to the most recent sci-fi novel Roger had picked up from the library. Pausing only briefly to grab dessert, Roger found himself cuddled up against Brian's side with the promised thick cut slice of cheesecake in hand. He had yet to tell Brian how he felt, and it was beginning to weight heavy on his shoulders. He had been putting it off all night--first with his mother calling out of the blue just to say hi, and then with the whole fiasco of the wine and Pepper. He wanted it to be the right time, but not too cheesy. He couldn't just blurt it out in the middle, it had to be brought up almost naturally. 

"Brian," Roger said quickly, twisting himself on the couch so that they were looking at each other. 

"Hm?" 

"I have something I wanted to say." 

Brian looked up from where he had been tracing patterns in the cream of the cheesecake, staring at Roger with wide, almost terrified eyes. Shit. Did he know? Was that why he looked so freaked out? The meal hadn't been exactly subtle, after all. It wasn't like it was either of their birthdays, or their anniversary, so there wasn't any other reason for him to have thrown a romantic dinner. Fuck, he was ruining this whole thing, and Brian was definitely going to freak out. 

"I want another glass of wine," he squeaked out, leaping to his feet and clutching at the wine glass like a lifeline. "Would you like one too?" 

Not even bothering to wait for a reply, Roger grabbed Brian's glass and rushed into the kitchen, dropping both glasses on the counter with a clatter. 

"Get your shit together, Taylor," he growled to himself, gripping the counter tightly. He poured himself a generous glass and drank it all in one go, gasping slightly when finished. He was reaching for another when Mary's warning came to mind. "No one likes a sloppy drunk," he repeated to himself sotto voce. 

Measuring out a tiny pit of wine into his glass, he refilled Brian's and made to return to the living room. That is, until he noticed the remaining lasagna on the stove. Sure, he didn't exactly fancy eating Pepper's ass-pasta, but surely the cat hadn't been able to get her tongue _all over_ the pan, right? A little bite or two wouldn't hurt, and it would definitely help sop up all the wine floating around in his stomach, more so than just vegetables and garlic bread. Glancing back at the room to make sure Brian wasn't looking in his direction, Roger pulled a fork from the drawer and scooped up a good sized bite. Popping it in his mouth, he turned to grab the forgotten glasses, only to choke. 

Holy fuck, it was the worst thing he had ever put in his mouth. Choking, he pivoted towards the sink and spat the whole mouthful out before turning on the faucet and sticking his mouth under the water. How the fuck did it get that salty? 

For a split second, he looked horrified towards Pepper's food bowl, worried that maybe that's what cat ass tasted like--too much salt. But that was absolutely ridiculous. Swallowing thickly, he decided to try another bite, this time from the opposite end of the pan. Same results, same disgusting, overly salted lasagna. 

Roger stumbled away from the stove top, practically collapsing against the fridge. How could he have fucked up that badly? Where did he even go wrong? He had followed the recipe _exactly_ ; he even triple checked that the recipe called for only two teaspoons of salt. He had colored each of the measuring spoons just in case, and knew for a fact that he had used the right one. In fact, the only real mistake he had made was leaving the lasagna in the oven for too long, and when he dropped half the--

"The spice rack!" he yelped, rushing towards said rack. Frantically, he pulled at each of the spices until he found the one he was looking for. The table salt was still slightly damp from it's bath in the boiling water, but more telling, the lid wasn't properly fashioned shut. With a deep breath, Roger lifted the lid and stared down into a little glass container of what was once full of salt and now was only full of salt water. An entire salt shaker, dumped into the boiling water with the noodles. No wonder it tasted like he had licked an entire salt mine; he had practically cooked the lasagna using water from the Dead Sea. And poor Brian, who had to eat his horrible, terrible, absolutely disgusting dinner. 

Roger half felt like bursting into tears. There went his perfect, romantic dinner. Good job, Rog, way to fuck up once again. All that work, for nothing. He had practically poisoned his boyfriend, and had intimidated him into eating a year's supply of salt in one meal. Poor Brian, poor dear, sweet, darling Brian, who choked down a whole serving of the slop, and had done everything in his power to save Roger from ever finding out what a massive fuck up he was. 

"Goddamnit," Roger hissed, clenching his fists tightly. "You're such a mess. Who even does that, spills a whole fucking salt container? And then serves it to their boyfriend?" 

He wanted to throw the damn pan across the kitchen, wanted to chuck the cursed salt shaker out the window. He wanted to throw himself down on the ground like a child having a wobble, to cry and stomp and curse in frustration. All that stress, all that work, all those lessons, for nothing! Only for him to embarrass himself once again in front of the man he loves. God, and Brian had eaten the whole thing! The things they did for love. 

That drew him up short. Pausing, he replayed that thought over again in his mind. The things they did for love. Brian ate that _whole_ piece of lasagna. Hell, he had finished an entire piece that must have tasted like French kissing Lot's wife. Just so Roger would never know that he had ruined it. Brian did that, just to save Roger's feelings from getting hurt. Why else would he do it, if not for love? 

All the rage, frustration, and humiliation melted from his mind as he grew flush with giddiness. Brian _loved_ him. Of course he did, he ate practically an entire salt block, just for Roger! 

Forgetting completely about the wine glasses, Roger skipped from the kitchen back into the living room. Brian glanced up from his plate, smiling gently. Roger felt as though he could run a marathon, fight the bloody Queen of England, hell, swim the damn Channel, just to have Brian keep looking at him like that. Like he loved him. 

Tossing himself into Brian's lap, he ignored his 'oof' of surprise, choosing instead to straddle his waist, twisting his arms behind his neck, and swallowing any complaint with his tongue. Brian startled, but quickly got with the program, dropping the plate next to him so as to grip Roger's hips and yank him closer, responding enthusiastically into the kiss. 

Beneath the lush hint of cream and twang of wine, Roger could taste nothing but salt in Brian's mouth. So much salt, all for Roger. Pulling away, Roger couldn't help but grin dazedly down at the curly idiot he called his boyfriend. 

"You love me," he cooed, running his hands through the thick curls. Brian startled, his eyes widening comically as he gaped like a fish.

"Wha--?"

"Sh, it's okay," Roger whispered, twirling one lock around his finger. "You don't have to say it, but it's okay, because I love you, too. So much, babe." 

He cut off any further comment with another kiss, this one even dirtier than the last, licking deeper into his mouth until all he could taste was salt, and beneath that, Brian. He smiled into the kiss, knowing that this was a man willing to practically die, just for Roger. 

"I love you," he whispered, pulling back to press a wet kiss to one cheek, then the other. "I love you so much, I promise to never, ever, ever, make you lasagna with a whole salt shaker in it." 

Brian stiffened. "You know." 

"Oh yeah, baby, I figured it out. Pepper's ass, huh?" 

Brian grimaced. "Okay, while that wasn't my best excuse, that's disgusting that you'd still eat something that could potentially have been contaminated by _cat feces_ , Roger." 

Roger laughed, pulling Brian closer to kiss him again. "I cannot believe you ate a whole piece, just for me." 

"I can't even attempt to lie and tell you it wasn't that bad, babe. I swear, I'm going to be so bloated tomorrow." 

"That's okay, cuz I'll still love you anyways." 

This time Brian was the one to pull him into their next kiss, smiling into his lips. "Good, cuz I wouldn't do that for just _anyone_." 

Roger's heart skipped not one, not two, but three beats in his chest. "Babe, if you keep talking like that, it won't just be Pepper's ass I'll eat tonight." 

Brian stiffened, pulling back with a horrified look on his face, his lips curled. Roger flushed. "Too far?" 

"Too far," Brian agreed in a quiet, vaguely traumatised voice. Roger nodded, opened his mouth to say something, paused, closed his mouth, then opened it again. 

"Good thing you still love me?" he offered sheepishly. 

Taking a deep breath, Brian closed his eyes and ran his hands down the Roger's back to squeeze Roger's ass, reaching up to swallow the following moan. "God help me, but I do." 

"Absolutely no take backs," Roger said quickly, rocking his hips forward into Brian's lap. "You can't fool me, alright? You ate the salt for me." 

"And I'd do it again." Brian hissed as Roger rocked his hips down right over his crotch. "But right now, all I can think about is taking this to the bedroom. Sound like a good plan?" 

"Abso-fucking-lutely," Roger crowed, clambering off his lap and tugging him towards the bedroom. "Baby, I'm gonna make you feel so good as a thank you." 

Brian let himself get tugged into the bedroom, smiling all the while. Roger loved him, and he loved him in return. Who could ask for more? 

 

 

Freddie returned to the flat Sunday evening, after having called ahead as a forewarning. 

"Helloooo? Lovebirds?" he called, sticking his head through the front door. "Is it safe for me to come in?" 

"Hiya, Fred," Brian called from the couch, raising one hand to wave. Roger was curled up against his side, snoring softly into his shoulder. The news was playing quietly, the glow of the telly illuminating their faces in the din of twilight. "How was your weekend?" 

Freddie smirked knowingly. "Shouldn't I be asking you that?" 

Brian didn't even have the decency to blush. "It was aces, mate. Rog here made me dinner, and we spent most of it just lounging around. Don't worry about tonight," he added quickly, cutting Freddie off before he could make an ill timed joke about 'lounging around'. Having known Roger for two years and Freddie for almost as long, Brian was quick to cut them off at the perverted comment pass. "Once Roger wakes up, I'll probably head back to my flat. I've got early classes." 

Freddie nodded. "Alright, mate, no rush though. Just when you and Roger say goodnight, try and keep it quiet, okay? I want to try and get some sleep, not stay awake all night hearing Roger squeal." 

"Fred, I promise you, the moment Roger wakes up, I'm gonna kill you for that," Brian promises sweetly. Freddie flipped him off in return, moving to head back to his room. "Wait, Fred?" 

"Yes, darling?" 

"Two things. One, when you call Mary to tell her goodnight, can you tell her mission success? And two, make sure you give Pepper some of the tinned salmon tomorrow, alright?" 

Freddie furrowed his brow. "Erm, sure? I'll make sure to?" 

Brian's smile in response was too gentle. "Thanks, mate." 

Shrugging it off, Freddie lifted his hand in farewell before retreating to his bedroom. He loved those boys to death, but sometimes, they just didn't make any sense. Closing the door behind him, he made to flop onto his bed, only to discover Pepper curled up on his pillow.

"They're just two crazy kids in love, huh, Pepper?" Freddie cooed, scooping the cat up off his bed and into his arms.

"Meow," Pepper agreed, nuzzling her head into his chin with a purr.

**Author's Note:**

> hello darlings! so this idea had been rattling away in my head since I completed "escape (the piña colada song)" but i was never able to get past the first two paragraphs. and then, on my way home from work today, roger taylor burst into my brain and beat me into submission. so instead of prepping for my lessons tomorrow, i spent all evening pounding this monstrosity out. be a dear and let me know if you like it. hell, let me know if you hate it! i'm an equal opportunity commenter. 
> 
> title taken from the absolutely banger by my fav weird ass uncle, meatloaf. 
> 
>  
> 
> (also in case it's not clear, pepper is a mythical cat that i invented because i'm lazy and i've been listening to sergeant pepper's lonely heart's club band for like, six hours straight) (don't blame me, blame my boyfriend young george harrison)


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